


exudation

by quavemire



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 00:15:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19239961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quavemire/pseuds/quavemire
Summary: Prince Junmyeon thought it would be a nice idea to make his guard train in the hot summer heat. Oh, how wrong he was.





	exudation

**Author's Note:**

> written for exoseasonal round 2, prompt #57
> 
> mild content warning for disturbing descriptions

Junmyeon browsed through the palace’s extensive library, going through every shelf and department, picking books to entertain himself through the heat wave. A library was a blessing to have in the heat when there was nothing else to do than sit and wait for the wave to pass.

Fanning himself with a thin book, Junmyeon ran his hand along the spines of several old novels, pulling out a few that interested him. 

He came in to grab a book, but the pile on the dainty reading desk situated in the middle of the library kept getting bigger and bigger. It happened every time he paid a visit to the library. Junmyeon thought he should get a servant to carry them to his quarters.

The newest pieces of literature were shoved in the farthermost corner possible, in no specific order. It was a shame. There was one that piqued his interest, a more modern take on a classic story. Bringing it to the pile of books, Junmyeon sat down to pick one to read.

Placing the books in three piles, Junmyeon sighed, taking a glance through the great windows overlooking the smaller garden. The blaring heat had not yet withered the gardens, which would eventually happen. 

Junmyeon wanted to go read outside in the sun, but there was one problem. His guard. Specifically, his personal guard.

Said guard would whoop his ass if he wandered outside of the palace without someone adept accompanying him. Junmyeon would like to keep the benefits he had managed to acquire. They were already dwindling in numbers after an infamous assassination attempt that did not end well for the other party.

Junmyeon shook his head at the memory. Looking down at the three piles, he picked out a book, running his fingers over the green cover. The back of it creaked when he opened it, a telltale sign of its age. Crossing his ankles, he skipped past the introduction and began to read. 

After reading the first paragraph, Junmyeon was instantly hooked. He would have to finish it outside.

Junmyeon headed out of the hall, stopping by the librarian’s desk. “Please bring those books to my quarters today,” he ordered her, clutching the book of choice against his chest. If he did not stop himself, he would end up reading the entire novel in the library and let the beautiful weather go to waste.

The librarian bowed, her friendly eyes glinting in the sunlight. “Yes, Your Highness.” 

Junmyeon barely heard the answer, already out and headed towards the East wing. He had to find Yifan somewhere in the palace. That part of the palace would be a good place to start from. 

Walking along the hallways he acknowledged the soldiers guarding the East wing entrance with a nod, breezing past them.

And breeze he did, annoyed at the rules, the layout of the palace. Too many hallways and rooms. He had lived here for the entirety of his life and still got lost sometimes. 

Junmyeon guessed it was nearing midday, which meant Yifan should be training. He turned towards the soldiers’ quarters, peeking inside their training room.

He was right. There he was, quiet grunts heard through the ajar door.

Yifan did pull-ups in the middle of the room, shirtless, his leather pants slung low on his lean hips. It was a sight for sore eyes, though Junmyeon would prefer not being caught staring. Explaining that would be an unpleasant conversation to have.

Junmyeon had yet to test the waters with this new Captain. He had kept his attitude and tongue in check, for now. 

He had had the old Captain wrapped around his finger, but Yifan was tougher. Certain freedoms thats Junmyeon had acquired with the old Captain had been severely cut since Yifan had been entered the position. He would have to work to get them back.

Junmyeon made his presence known by clearing his throat, directing his gaze away to not be caught ogling. When he was sure he had Yifan's attention, he turned his gaze back at him.

“Yifan. As per your distaste for me wandering around the palace unattended, I came here to inform you I am going to go read outside," Junmyeon said. He kept his tone sarcastically formal, knowing Yifan’s distaste for such a waste of time. 

Keeping his eyes on Yifan’s face and not his body took tremendous amounts of willpower. Not letting his eyes wander down his bare, glistening chest, to places Junmyeon would love to explore more, was tough.

Junmyeon liked poking at the tiny things that had Yifan showing any kind of emotion. Occasionally Yifan had let himself relax, joining Junmyeon in his childish banter and shameless flirting. That was rare, though. Junmyeon openly ogling at his groin would not lead to one of those moments.

Yifan let go of the bar above and clasped his bandaged hands behind his back, bowing deeply. “Yes, Your Highness. I must complete my daily regimen.”

Junmyeon cringed at his title. “Then you shall do it outside," Junmyeon said and turned on his heels, walking across the hallway, his thin robes flowing in the air. It was hot outside, but not too hot for a seasoned soldier to work out. 

Junmyeon was happy to notice Yifan following him right behind, though now clothed — which was unfortunate. 

It was stiflingly hot inside the palace. The old stone walls were wonderfully cool until they warmed up and turned the building into an oven. At least outside, there was a slight ripple of wind that made it much more bearable. If you were in the shade, that is.

There were tall, slim windows all the way across the hallway, overlooking the main garden. The palace had three of them. Junmyeon knew Yifan thought they were a waste of resources. He thought they were pretty, and it was a known fact Yifan was an uncultured swine, so his opinion did not matter.

The courtyard had been kept in impeccable shape. It was beautiful to look at. The white canopy in the middle of it all was surrounded by flowers, in colors from light pink to bright orange. Whoever designed it deserved more recognition and praise for their work.

Junmyeon could spot strawberries growing in the sun. He would have to ask for a tray of them to eat whilst reading. 

When Junmyeon stepped down the stairs to the gravel, away from the shade, the sun cast warmth his skin despite the reflecting pure white robes. There was no escaping the heat wave.

Junmyeon gestured towards the canopy in the middle of it all. “I shall be reading there.”

“Yes, Your Highness." Yifan bowed and looked around for a spot to train in. Junmyeon nodded in approval, walking to the shaded canopy with his book clutched to his chest. The gardeners had skillfully threaded vines through the wooden rails, beautiful white blossoms and green vines surrounding the canopy.

Climbing the stairs and stopping in his tracks, Junmyeon considered his options. He could recline on the floor, sit beside the table, or take the divan. He nibbled on his lip, looking around. Taking the most comfortable option, Junmyeon seated himself on the divan, kicking off his shoes to lift them up.

Yifan seemed to contemplate whether to settle between the canopy and the palace, or the canopy and the wall. Both directions seemed to pose a danger, if Junmyeon read Yifan right. After all, both sides had an entrance of some sort. Yifan chose the side of the palace, but still shot a suspicious look at the gate embedded in stone.

It was hilarious to watch. The gate was merely for the path between the two walls circling the palace, no one would come out of there. He shook his head and opened the book, curling up on the divan, lulling himself to the sound of birds singing.

  
  


…

  
  


He quickly came to the conclusion that this was not a good idea. Not in the slightest. He could not believe that he had not thought of it earlier. 

He had forgotten that Yifan would actually train in the stifling heat. Sweating and grunting. Which meant a lot of things, none of them beneficial to Junmyeon’s plan to test the waters with the new Captain. The subtle hints he had been giving him seemed to do nothing, but foregoing everything and just ogling would be too much.

Yet, Junmyeon could not help but stare at Yifan’s glistening form. He had discarded his shirt halfway into his second repeat, and Junmyeon’s comprehension of the supposedly interesting novel's plot had dwindled down close to zero. Thankful for not grabbing something about astronomy or the laws of physics, Junmyeon forced himself to focus back on the text.

Junmyeon was proud of the three paragraphs he waded through before his attention was yet again diverted by a grunt from his side. It had Junmyeon turning his head to Yifan’s way. Whilst Junmyeon read, he did push-ups of several varieties — now in the middle of pistol squats.

Tearing his eyes away from the sight, Junmyeon took a deep breath. He had a novel to read, not hot guards to ogle. Junmyeon would never forgive his father for appointing Yifan as his personal guard, along with promoting him to the title of Captain. If the old man thought he was not going to get him to bed him, the old man was wrong.

This would be fantasy material for months to come. Junmyeon still had not gotten through even two measly chapters of his novel. Taking a deep breath, Junmyeon let himself sink into the divan, turning himself away from Yifan to avoid the temptation to get up and make him take him right there.

Just when he had exiled Yifan out of his mind, a soldier’s yell startled Junmyeon from his peaceful moment immersed in the novel.

“Yifan, Captain! We need your help!” 

Junmyeon’s head snapped towards the palace door, disturbed by the commotion. 

It was one of the youngest, newest members of the guard. Zitao, if Junmyeon recalled correctly. He appeared to be on a first name basis with Junmyeon’s very favorite soldier, despite being several ranks below him. Junmyeon could not help his curiosity. After they had sorted everything out, he was going to interrogate Yifan and make him as uncomfortable as possible.

“What’s the matter?” Yifan asked, straightening himself from a pistol squat. The balance he displayed had the dry patch in Junmyeon’s throat spreading.

Zitao looked sheepish but worried. “Well… Two out of three of the guards on the gates are out. Heat stroke.”

Yifan’s face twisted. That was more expression than Junmyeon ever imagined Yifan possessing.

“Are they in care?” Yifan asked Zitao, his whole body tense, thick veins bulging out of his bared arms. The conversation seemed odd. Junmyeon shrugged. It most likely had nothing to do with him.

“Yes. But we need to figure this out somehow.”

Yifan frowned, shoulders flexing. Junmyeon would like to walk behind him and… Maybe that trail of thought was not appropriate. Groaning, he reminded himself of the last scene in the novel, turning his attention back to it.

“You should stay with Junmyeon. You are not qualified for either, but…”

Junmyeon’s eyebrows shot up, eyes flitting to Zitao. A low-rank soldier, guarding a member of the royal family? It was unheard of. He placed enough trust in Yifan’s judgment to not object, though.

Yifan seemed to only now remember Junmyeon’s existence. Startling, Yifan turned to him. Before he could say anything, Junmyeon was already opening his mouth to speak, “You can go. I’m not going to be abducted in my own backyard in this heat.”

Yifan chortled, shaking his head. Junmyeon knew he had a point. Doing something in this heat would be a suicide mission at best, a mass execution at worst. “Protocol, Your Highness.”

“Screw the protocol,” Junmyeon mumbled under his breath. “Excuse me, but now I must resume my reading. Figure it out," Junmyeon said and turned his focus back to the book. Yifan grunted in that manly way of his, the tiniest bit of defiance in his voice.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

There was a short, hushed conversation between the two soldiers, Zitao saluting his Captain as he headed away. Junmyeon stole a glance, watching the soldier’s sweaty back disappear into the palace. Zitao though, did not follow Yifan. He came closer to the canopy, steps silent, no movement unnecessary or out of place. When not yelling across the yard, he looked shy and timid, hands clasped behind his back. He stopped at the spot Yifan trained in, clearing his throat.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness. Captain’s orders.”

“It’s alright,” Junmyeon said and lifted his gaze off of the book. “Alert a servant, tell them to bring us cold water and a plate of fruit.”

Zitao’s eyebrows shot up. “Us?”

Junmyeon chuckled at the way the poor boy flinched. He had spoken out of turn. “Yes. I cannot afford yet another guard fainting. Get a servant and come sit with me.”

“Y-yes, your Highness," Zitao stuttered and turned on his heels, walking towards the palace. Junmyeon watched the boy go with a fond expression. He was adorable. 

Strawberries would be messy and the white divan he was seated would be best kept clean, so Junmyeon sat down at the table, still barefoot. The planks below were warm, whetted smooth and painted white.

Zitao took one last look at Junmyeon before dashing inside the palace halls. Junmyeon was finally able to concentrate on the novel, skimming through the pages as the blaring sun heated his skin. Junmyeon leaned on his elbow, staring into the distance. 

The concentration was short-lived, as it always was. He had never been the attentive type, unlike his brother. 

Zitao’s figure emerged from the palace, carrying something on his hands. Junmyeon smiled. Instead of making someone bring them to him, Zitao brought them himself. Yifan had definitely trained him well. Junmyeon turned his head towards the horizon, waiting for Zitao to cross the garden and climb up the steps to the canopy. The wonderful view of the hills and forests was obstructed by the large wall surrounding the palace.

It was unfortunate, but necessary. 

“Your Highness,” Zitao addressed him, placing down a tray of fruit. Strawberries, mango, slices of kiwi, piled up for eating. Junmyeon’s mouth salivated.

“Thank you, Zitao. Please take a seat.” Zitao nodded and sat on the chair opposite Junmyeon, keeping his posture impeccable. “Did Yifan train you himself?” Junmyeon asked with genuine curiosity.

“Yes, Your Highness. How did you know?” Zitao smiled.

It was a foreign feeling, getting a follow-up question, but Junmyeon appreciated the company, someone to talk to. He was quite lonely, after all.

“Every single one of his men sits exactly like that,” Junmyeon answered, a smile playing on his lips. “Stick straight, hands clasped,” he added, biting on a strawberry. It burst on his tongue, ripened by the heat that had come with the southern winds. “And, Yifan never lets any food that’s going to go in my mouth be left unsupervised.”

Zitao blushed a little, turning his head away. Junmyeon looked at him fondly. He liked him already. He was a much more pleasant company than Yifan was. “Perhaps…” Zitao murmured and looked away.

Junmyeon directed his amusement back to the novel, turning a page. The paper had yellowed, the black ink fading off in some spots. Zitao tried hiding his obvious curiosity. He fidgeted on the seat, taking a small piece of mango to nibble on.

“What are you reading, Your Highness?” he asked quietly.

“A fictional biography.”

“Why would someone write a fictional biography?” Zitao asked, slapping a hand over his mouth. “Your Highness,” he squeaked after the initial screw-up.

Junmyeon grinned. “No need to be so stuck up, Yifan’s not here. To answer your question, I don’t know. It’s a good read, though.”

“Oh.”

Junmyeon rolled his eyes in amusement. There was just something endearing about the childlike innocence Zitao portrayed with his questions and mannerisms. It was like someone had been trying to shove him in the mold of the perfect guard, and only partly succeeded.

Biting on his lip, Zitao cleared his throat and asked, “Could I… Could I use the library someday, Your Highness?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” 

Zitao fidgeted, directing his gaze away for a second. Poor boy, so full of Yifan’s training and etiquette he could not form a sentence. “O-oh, well, nobody has told me if I can…”

Junmyeon cooed, “Oh you. If you treat the books well, you can use the library.”

Zitao beamed up, eyes crinkling into tiny crescents. Junmyeon’s attention went to his canines, which looked way too sharp. “Really? Thank you, Your Highness!” 

Junmyeon smiled, stealing another glance at the canines. He should chastise Yifan for not introducing his trainees to the library. It would do them good to read of the world. Zitao quieted after that, sat down on the chair, scanning their surroundings every few seconds. Junmyeon let himself get distracted, sucked into the world of the novel.

Several paragraphs went by in a flash, Zitao’s presence bringing him comfort. He could not help but wonder, though.

“How could two guards have a heat stroke at the same time?” Junmyeon asked. It was strange, it had not quite been that hot, for soldiers standing in shade to be fainting in numbers.

Zitao cleared his throat, eyes skittering off of Junmyeon’s. “I don’t know, Your Highness. You should ask Yifan, when he comes back.” 

Junmyeon nodded, feeling like he had not been told everything there was to it. 

“Alright,” Junmyeon sighed in defeat, grabbing a strawberry to munch on.

Zitao stared at his lips as they wrapped around the berry, sucking the juices out of it. Junmyeon could not help feeling a little smug. If Yifan did not fuck him, Zitao would.

  
  


…

  
  


Zitao jumped off his chair. “Sir!” 

Junmyeon’s head snapped towards the side. Yifan ran towards them, the door embedded in the wall strewn open behind him. His pupils were blown wide, rattling heard in his breath. “Get Junmyeon to safety. Now!” he ordered, tossing a pouch to Zitao.

“What?” Junmyeon asked, placing his book down. The spine of it was abused enough for it to lie flat.

Yifan shot him a look meant to silence him, turning back to Zitao. “Drink it. You know where to take him.”

“Yes, Sir,” Zitao said, pulling a vial out of the pouch, twisting the wax sealed cap open. Pieces of wax fell down on the wooden floor. They would melt in the heat and probably stain the white paint. A frown twisted Junmyeon's face.

“Yifan.”

“Not now, Junmyeon,” Yifan said, taking the pouch back when Zitao poured the vial down his throat, trembling and whining in pain. Taking potions never stopped looking, and being, gruesome.

Junmyeon had had enough. “Yifan. Tell me what’s going on, please!” Taking a step forward, Junmyeon grabbed Yifan’s shirt, grasping the fabric tightly.

Yifan sighed in defeat. “It was… It was not a heat stroke, Your Highness,” he admitted, bowing down in apology. Junmyeon froze. It all made sense. He was in danger. Actual danger. Junmyeon’s hand dropped down, dangling by his side. Situations like this were never this dire.

Normally, whatever happened was subdued before the members of the family were even alerted about it. Every once in a while the attackers were good enough to get inside. That was what happened the last time, when Yifan was only the Captain, but not Junmyeon’s personal guard. 

A group of revolutionists from the North got in, and without Yifan’s quick intervention, Junmyeon would be dead, or held for ransom. Being the favorite child of the Emperor put him in tremendous danger. That quick intervention made Yifan his guard.

With Yifan, Junmyeon had nothing to worry about.

Yifan’s head snapped to the back, sounds of fight echoing from inside the stone walls surrounding the palace, through the open door. “Now, Zitao.”

“Yes, Sir. Your Highness, please, this way,” Zitao instructed, rehearsed speak at odds with his expression. Junmyeon held onto Zitao’s arm as he led them inside the palace. Zitao was glancing at the sides the whole way there, shielding Junmyeon with his body.

Junmyeon started to understand why Yifan would hand his safety over to him. Slamming the doors shut, Zitao ushered the servants away. “Bar it,” he ordered a lingering servant, tugging Junmyeon along.

He was heading the opposite where Junmyeon thought he would. “Shouldn’t we go to my quarters?” Junmyeon asked. 

Zitao shook his head. “Unsafe.”

Junmyeon did not push it at that. He mourned for the fate of his beautifully ripe strawberries, now alone and abandoned in the heat. It was unfair. Was wanting to just sit down and read too much to ask?

Apparently, yes. “This way, Your Highness,” Zitao said, turning towards the East wing. Junmyeon scrambled to keep up, glancing back worriedly.

“Where are you..?”

“Shh,” Zitao hushed him, tugging him close. Junmyeon clamped his mouth shut, tightening his grip on Zitao’s arm as they came to a halt. Zitao looked around and forcefully pushed the pantry door open, dragging Junmyeon inside.

“This is not… Where I thought I’d end up.”

Zitao giggled, shaking his head. It sounded odd, slightly strained with the effort to keep up with his body. The things those vials did to the guards’ bodies were not pretty. “It is not, Your Highness,” he said teasingly, pushing a barrel in front of the door. He stared at his doings for a moment before walking to another barrel, squatting in front of it. He proceeded to lift it up on top of the previous one, easy as anything. Zitao gave it one last push to make sure the door could not be opened, turning around.

A barrel full of wine like that easily weighed over three times the weight of Junmyeon. He had trouble breathing. Zitao brushed past Junmyeon, heading towards the far wall of the pantry. “Follow me, Your Highness.” 

Junmyeon, dubious as ever, walked behind him, taking a glance at the stacked barrels. Zitao had stopped in front of a wooden panel, where the cooks had hung ingredients to dry.

Grabbing a metal rod from the floor, Zitao shoved it between the panel and the stone wall, cranking it open. Junmyeon did not expect to see darkness behind it. Zitao wrapped a strong hand around Junmyeon’s bicep, pulling him inside, accompanied with an alarmed yelp from Junmyeon. Zitao slamming the panel shut, they were left in total darkness. “I cannot see anything!” Junmyeon whined.

“I can. Quiet, now,” Zitao hushed him, pulling him along. 

“A-are we inside the walls?” Junmyeon asked, realizing that indeed, they were sandwiched between two stone walls.

“Mhm.”

Junmyeon gawked at him, even though he could not see him in the darkness. Stopping in his tracks, Zitao squat down out of nowhere, the drag of metal against stone echoing in the walls. Junmyeon wondered how long did these tunnels extend.

Junmyeon touched the wall, fingers meeting wood instead of stone. Zitao cranked it open too, the panel opening inwards instead of the other way, like the panel in the pantry.

The light blaring out of the opening blinded Junmyeon momentarily. Zitao pushed him inside with a gentle nudge, Junmyeon almost losing his balance. It took a second for him to realize where he was. “This is Yifan’s room.”

“You’ve been here?” Zitao asked both hands pressing the panel shut, big eyes staring into him. Junmyeon thought that Zitao’s tendency to forget titles was endearing. 

A blush crept up Junmyeon’s cheeks. “Well… These have traditionally been the Captain’s quarters and… the previous one…” he mumbled. Junmyeon had quite liked that man. Before he got himself a family and moved to a quaint little town a day’s ride from the palace, that is.

Zitao looked speechless, staring at him with his mouth gaping. Junmyeon wanted to hide behind his hands, or possibly drag Zitao to bed. He looked delectable.

Junmyeon forced his thoughts elsewhere and took a look around the room. Not much had changed, the decor and the placement of everything was still the same. No windows, a high ceiling, a grand fireplace, pompous decor the men before Yifan preferred. Junmyeon did not think he paid much mind to that.

“W-well, Your Highness, please make yourself comfortable,” Zitao stuttered as he put the rod back behind the panel. Junmyeon realized he had seen panels like that  _ everywhere. _ He wondered if he could sneak out through them, or if someone — Yifan — would catch him the second he attempted to open the panels. 

Yifan’s bed was messily made, creases and folds in the comforter, pillows thrown around haphazardly. It was the only thing out of order in the room. Walking to the table by the wall, Junmyeon sat down on one of the plush armchairs. “You are still not going to tell me what all of this is about?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Zitao shook his head, smiling mysteriously. He seemed to be hiding his newfound knowledge and surprise well. “Do you wish to have anything, Your Highness?”

Junmyeon sighed. “The strawberries… And it’s cold in here.” It was the case, with the room being isolated in the middle of the wing. Junmyeon’s robes were thin, not retaining much warmth.

“I, unfortunately, cannot exit this room, but…” Zitao frowned, heading towards the back wall, wrenching Yifan’s closet open. “A-ha!”

Zitao pulled out a thick blanket, bringing it over to Junmyeon. 

A terrible idea crossed Junmyeon’s mind. If he was going to be held captive, he would at least make the most of it. “That won’t be enough,” he hummed, getting up and pushing Zitao down on the armchair with a gentle push, feeling up his muscled chest.

Zitao spluttered, sitting stick straight with the blanket still cradled in his arms. Junmyeon tugged it off, plopping himself on his lap. Zitao radiated heat like a furnace, and Junmyeon wondered if it had something to do with the potion.

He knew Zitao could push him off with ease, but he did not, so he settled down, spreading the blanket over himself, tucking it in tight. 

“Y-your Highness,” Zitao started.

“Quiet. Warm me up.”

Zitao deflated under him, wrapping his arms around Junmyeon. “Y-yes, Your Highness.”

“Excellent,” Junmyeon rumbled, closing his eyes for a moment. He let his head lull against Zitao’s shoulder, taking deep breaths. The situation, though dire on the walls of the palace, felt far away in the safety of the Captain’s quarters.

“Zitao?”

Zitao’s thighs tensed below him, expanding impossibly wide in the confines of his leather pants. Zitao would have the strength to fuck him to oblivion. Junmyeon had to suppress a moan. 

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Why are your canines so sharp?”

Zito curled his top lip, showing off the teeth in question. They came down into a sharp point. Yifan had sharp teeth too, but in the realm of passing as normal.

“I had them sharpened. The transmutation grew them, and Captain thinks it is an advantage over my opponents, Your Highness,” Zitao explained, tonguing the sharp tips.

Junmyeon frowned. “Why?”

Zitao shrugged, pupils constricting in the light. They were still a bit too big, a sign that the potion still in effect. “I could tear out a jugular. Maybe.”

Junmyeon blinked. Once. Twice. “What?”

“Well, in the case that I am unarmed. Like this,” Zitao said, pulling Junmyeon’s hair to crane his neck, two terribly sharp teeth pressing into a pulse point. 

“A-ah!” Junmyeon moaned, heat pooling low in his stomach. Zitao’s hand slithered across his stomach, pressing against his sternum.

At that precise moment, the door swung open and Yifan stepped in. He looked exhausted.

“Zitao.”

“C-captain!” 

“What are you doing.” It was not a question. Junmyeon held his breath, still forced to crane his neck, slim fingers tangled in his hair.

Zitao’s hand slid off his hair, posture going stick straight. “I-I do not know, Sir!”

Junmyeon could not help himself. A giggle threatened to rise up and burst out. He forced it down, taking a good look at Yifan. He had specs of blood on his shirt, a couple of slashes on his leather pants, thick for this exact reason, several bruises, and a split brow. Junmyeon had never seen him so disheveled. “Why are you  _ cuddling _ with His Highness?”

“H-his Highness said he felt chilly, Captain.”

Yifan shook his head. The slashes on his pants spread as he walked to the closet, moving along with his body. Where did he produce a shirt, Junmyeon did not know. It was not the one he had discarded outside in a heap of wrinkled linen.

“We shall talk about this later, Zitao. Please leave, the main gate needs a guard. We had a casualty.”

“Yes, Sir,” Zitao said, and before he could utter anything else, Junmyeon was already up, flopping on the other armchair.

Zitao stood up, bowed to Junmyeon, and left the room. Yifan’s eyes followed him out, turning to Junmyeon next. His pupils were blown too, even more so than Zitao’s. 

“What was that.”

Junmyeon bit on his lip, glad he dropped the title. “He kindly demonstrated how useful his sharpened fangs were.” A shiver ran down his spine as he recalled Zitao yanking his hair back and leaning in, puffs of air tickling his neck.

“I shall have to talk about that to him,” Yifan said, running his fingers through his hair. He sighed, pulling the closet doors open.

“Go easy on him, Yifan.”

Yifan shot him a stern look, pulling out a fresh shirt. Holding it in his hand and staring at it, he seemed to contemplate for a moment before shoving it back, closing the doors. Junmyeon could not help his smile.

A knock on the door startled Junmyeon. “In, please,” Yifan said. Two servants walked in carrying a large tray. Junmyeon recognized the bowl of strawberries left in the canopy, perking up at the thought of getting to finish them.

“Chamomile tea, strawberries, and your novel, Your Highness,” the other servant said after placing the tray down on the table, bowing and leaving. 

Yifan smiled gently. “Thought you needed something to calm you down, Your Highness.”

“Thank you,” Junmyeon said meekly, pulling the blanket better around himself. After realizing Yifan was not going to pour him some, Junmyeon thought of ordering him to do it. Deciding against it, he folded the top in his lap neatly, leaning over to pour the tea himself. 

Yifan took off his tattered shirt, folding it neatly. He was not injured in his torso aside from a few nasty bruises. It looked like someone had gotten a couple of good punches in. Junmyeon’s hand stuttered, and he spilled tea on the tabletop. It soiled the tablecloth. 

“Shit.”

“Is something wrong, Your Highness?” 

Junmyeon wanted to throw the tea pot across the room. “Yes!”

Yifan tilted his head, looking straight into Junmyeon’s eyes. He had to turn his gaze away, straightening a pile of books on the table to avoid answering him. 

“Tell me,” Yifan softly said.

Junmyeon bristled, straightening himself to his full height. Maybe he should just give up. His father liked Yifan way too much to exile him for merely screwing his son. 

“Stop being so goddamn attractive,” he wheezed.

A smirk trailed on Yifan’s lips. “Why, Your Highness?” The title was back, just as condescending as it always was. His smirk looked way too hot with his blown eyes. Junmyeon growled, marching right up, trying to appear intimidating, but his shorter stature was a major disadvantage. He was a head shorter than Yifan, who was still smiling smugly.

“Stop that!” Junmyeon yelled in his face.

“Stop what, Your Highness?”

“This! You know I have been trying to get you to fuck me for  _ ages _ and then you pull shit like this!” Junmyeon whined, gesturing at the exposed torso before him.

Yifan’s smirk turned victorious. He hummed and stepped closer, spinning him around from his shoulders and marching him back up to the table, pushing him to sit down. “Drink your tea first.”

Junmyeon sat there dumbfounded as Yifan finished pouring the tea, shoving it to his hands. 

“What?” 

“Drink first.”

Lifting the cup to his lips, Junmyeon stared at Yifan, bemused at his antics. He sat down, leaning back on the armchair, head tilted. The sight had Junmyeon squeezing his thighs together, holding in the moan he wanted to let out. Distracting himself with a sip of chamomile tea, Junmyeon looked away, blush rising high on his cheeks.

He was pretty sure he deserved this, with the amount of teasing he had subjected Yifan to. Being on the receiving end, sitting in front of a shirtless hot man, was not nearly as funny. It would do him no good to give up now.

Downing the tea in one go, Junmyeon got up and headed towards the bed, tugging on his sash. A rush of blood flowed down, his vision darkening at the edges.

Yifan came up behind him, moving silently, spinning Junmyeon around. Pressing Junmyeon against himself with a broad, warm hand, Yifan looked down at him, taking in the panting, the glossy eyes. Junmyeon placed his hands on Yifan’s chest, looking up into his eyes. 

Junmyeon let out a shocked noise, hands coming up to push Yifan away, but his strong hand melted him against Yifan’s solid body.

“Fuck,” Yifan cursed when they parted. It was the first time Junmyeon had heard him swear outside of a dangerous situation. Already panting, Junmyeon wrapped his hands around Yifan’s biceps. His fingers barely wrapped around a half of them.

Yifan flexed his arms, bringing his hands on Junmyeon’s waist. He hauled Junmyeon up, accompanied by Junmyeon’s loud yelp, tossing him unceremoniously on the middle of the bed.

“Why are you so rough?” Junmyeon whined, bouncing off of the mattress. He pouted, staring up into Yifan. His eyes twinkled with amusement, and Junmyeon found it hard to breathe.

“Hush, you wanted to fuck,” Yifan silenced him and climbed on the bed, crawling forwards until he was able to cage Junmyeon in, crashing their lips together.

Mewling in Yifan’s mouth, Junmyeon wrapped his legs around Yifan’s waist. “Why are you only now jumping me,” he whined, rutting up against Yifan’s abdomen. 

He pulled off, smirking down at Junmyeon. “Your Highness, all you had to do was  _ ask,” _ Yifan rumbled, tugging the sash’s knot holding all of Junmyeon’s clothes together.

Junmyeon hid behind his hand as the silk slid off his body. 

“Nothing underneath? Alright, Your Highness.”

Junmyeon could  _ feel _ the blush burn his cheeks. “You’re acting s-strange,” Junmyeon gasped, trying to keep up with Yifan. His hands were  _ everywhere, _ tongue and lips roaming everything they could reach. It was all so far from the usual, composed Yifan Junmyeon was used to seeing.

“You’re not complaining,” Yifan hummed into his ear, licking along the shell. Junmyeon could not help his mewl, grasping Yifan’s biceps again, feeling up the muscle. Yifan chuckled, the puff of air going straight into Junmyeon’s ear. “Lowered inhibitions,” Yifan added, biting his earlobe.

“O-oh,” he answered. It made sense. He knew Zitao would never munch on his neck if he were in his right mind. But, if drinking the vials lowered his inhibitions, the thought was there all the time. Junmyeon reminded himself to store that tidbit of information.

Yifan’s thigh pressed against his crotch, warm leather dragging across Junmyeon’s bare skin. Junmyeon moaned, wrapping his legs around Yifan to rut against his solid thigh.

Above him, Yifan’s hand shot to the side, retreating with a jar of lube. He unscrewed the cap, dipping three of his fingers inside. Coated with the sheer substance, Yifan brought his fingers down. Junmyeon’s mouth dried up.

Yifan still worked on his ear and neck, soft pants puffing along Junmyeon’s sensitive skin. He pressed the pad of his finger against Junmyeon’s entrance. 

“Alright?” Yifan asked,  _ right _ in his ear. Junmyeon jumped, a breathy moan flying off his lips. His ears were so sensitive, but he was glad Yifan had not yet started playing with his neck. He gave a shaky nod, spreading his legs further.

Yifan pressed the finger in, twisting it to spread the lube around. Junmyeon let his head fall against the pillows, eyes focused on the ceiling. Yifan’s finger was so thick, already stinging a bit. Junmyeon had not done this in a while.

“Second one?” Yifan asked, crooking the finger inside him.

Junmyeon scoffed, throwing his leg on Yifan’s shoulder. “I won’t f-fucking break,” he hissed through grit teeth. There was no reason for Yifan to pamper him, treat him like a princess. Yifan cocked an eyebrow, pressing in a second finger.

“You won’t?” Yifan asked teasingly, wiggling his fingers, rubbing them close to Junmyeon’s prostate, but not quite there. Junmyeon whined high in his throat, screwing his eyes shut. They flew open as Yifan forced him open with three thick fingers, the burn too much to handle, but he bit his tongue and willed his tears away.

“Too much?” Yifan asked, voice hoarse. 

“N-not really,” Junmyeon gasped, rocking back against Yifan. There was no friction on his cock, but he knew that if he started touching himself, he would come in no time. Junmyeon moaned, bucking his hips up.

Yifan merely nodded, pushing in a fourth. 

“Ha-ah,” Junmyeon panted, digging his fingers into the sheets, grasping for dear life. “Fuck, ahh—”

Heart pounding in his ears, it took a while for Junmyeon to realize Yifan’s hand had stilled inside him, thick fingers still pushing Junmyeon apart. “Hurts?”

Junmyeon wheezed, “Stop fucking worrying and fuck me! Gods!”

Yifan laughed, the deep rumble shaking the bed. “Alright, alright,” he hummed and pulled his fingers out, wiping them on the sheets. Junmyeon was about to reprimand him — silk was expensive — but Yifan tugged open the lacings of his pants, pushing the leather down, and Junmyeon could not breathe.

“Wow.”

Extending a hand, Junmyeon pushed his fingers through the knife slashes in the leather, tugging Yifan closer. Yifan overbalanced, falling on top of Junmyeon. Junmyeon touched a spot where the skin had been cut. “Does it hurt?”

Balancing on his elbow, Yifan looked down and shook his head. “Not really.”

“Weird.” Shaking his head, Junmyeon shuffled closer to him, pulling the pants down until Yifan had enough leverage to get out of them. Yifan shrugged, kicking the garment aside.

“I have had worse,” he explained. The worst of it was that Junmyeon knew. The proof was scattered all over Yifan’s body. It should have not made him feel hot and choke on air, but it did. It made everything so much worse. Junmyeon surged upwards, pulling Yifan down from his neck, fingers threading into Yifan’s thick ponytail. It loosened the tie, stray strands hanging down, tickling Junmyeon’s face.

A smirk trailed on Yifan’s lips before he sealed them over Junmyeon’s, forcing his neck to crane back, sinking his head into the pillows. Yifan’s bed was not a fortress of pillows like Junmyeon’s own was. 

Whining of desperation in Yifan’s mouth, Junmyeon wrenched himself away, squirming until Yifan moved enough to let him turn around. He had had enough.

“Your Highness?”

“Fuck me.” Grabbing the discarded jar of lube, Junmyeon shoved it in Yifan’s hand. “Put that training to good use,” he continued and shoved the thick pillow under his hips, propping his ass up. Yifan groaned, extending a hand as to give it a hard slap. Nothing happened, though.

“Come on,” Junmyeon teased, shaking his ass. Yifan was held back by something, and that would not do. A deep groan rattled the bed. Junmyeon was so hard it  _ hurt, _ and Yifan would not do anything about it. It was the best kind of torture there was,

Used to bossing Yifan around, Junmyeon had to bite his lip to stop himself from complaining. “Please, Yifan,” he said instead, looking over his shoulder.

Nodding shakily, Yifan pressed the head of his cock against Junmyeon’s hole, sending shivers down his spine. Yifan seemed to be gathering himself, calming himself down. Junmyeon did not know what was the potion’s doing and what was not.

Getting impatient, Junmyeon whined, “Fuck me.”

“Was that an order?” Yifan rumbled teasingly, pressing against his stretched entrance for good measure. Junmyeon’s eyes rolled to the back of his head.

_ “Yes.” _

Yifan wrapped his massive hands around Junmyeon’s waist, pressing harder, just a tad bit too thick to just slip in. Junmyeon squinted at him. It must have not been effective, with half of his face squished against the sheets. Rolling his eyes, Yifan started forcing himself in, meeting resistance until the lube did its job and the tip of his cock slipped in.

“Oh…”

“Don’t clench,” Yifan hissed through grit teeth, eyebrows furrowing together. It was the hottest expression Junmyeon had ever seen on Yifan’s face.

“Sorry, it hurts a little,” Junmyeon said, trying to relax. He pushed his face into the pillows, whining high in his throat. “Hngh,” he let out, taking a deep breath and letting himself sink to the mattress.

“Alright?”

“Y-yeah,” Junmyeon answered and turned his head, tears budding along his lash line. His voice was weak, already wrecked. Yifan grabbed his shoulder, bracing his knees on both sides of Junmyeon’s hips. “Go ahead.”

The first thrust knocked the air out of Junmyeon’s lungs.

Yifan picked up an unrelenting pace that gave Junmyeon no time to breathe, or think. All he could do was lie there and  _ take it. _

Junmyeon squirmed, clenching around Yifan’s shaft as he thrust in. He had to use more force, the grip on Junmyeon’s waist tightening, hard enough to bruise. Moaning into the pillows, Junmyeon arched his back and rut against the mattress in sync with Yifan’s thrusts,

“Fuck, Junmyeon,” Yifan cursed, sounding strained. The fact that it was all Junmyeon’s doing was all the better. If Yifan had not rendered him useless, Junmyeon would’ve smile smugly.

“A-around,” Junmyeon stuttered, grasping the sheets. Being on his stomach, Junmyeon could not see Yifan’s face, his expressions. Yifan merely grunted, flipping Junmyeon over with terrifying ease. 

“Fuck,” he groaned as he pushed back in. Yifan circled his hand around Junmyeon’s cock, leaning over to thrust with more leverage. It was not doing it, though.

“Still not it,” Junmyeon gasped, not getting the satisfaction he craved. Yifan stopped, pressed deep inside Junmyeon. Poised, perfect, waiting for instruction, Junmyeon just could not take it—

Yifan flipped him to his side, yanking the pillow from under Junmyeon’s hips. Choking on his own saliva, Junmyeon gasped for air, grappling for something to hold onto. His hand met a wayward pillow, holding onto it for dear life.

“Shut up for once,” Yifan damn near growled, fingers threading between Junmyeon's hair, yanking  _ hard. _

Yifan had  _ never _ gotten pissy at him like that. It should not have sent a wave of heat down to Junmyeon's crotch, but it did. “F-fuck,” he gasped, eyes flying open. Yifan took the distraction and pushed himself in, forcing Junmyeon's body to arch backward, pinned in Yifan’s death grip. 

“T-touch me,” Junmyeon gasped, screwing his eyes shut as the pleasure flooded over him.

Yifan leaned over him, breath fanning over Junmyeon's ear. “Beg.”

Junmyeon shook his head, shame prickling on the edges of his consciousness, overshadowed only by the sheer need to come. He gritted his teeth, tears budding at his lash line. “Yifan, Yifan, please, please touch me!”

Yifan smirked, sneaking a hand under his thigh. It forced his knee up and over Yifan’s shoulder, giving him a whole new angle to fuck him in. At the same time, Yifan started stroking him with unforgiving strength. Junmyeon’s cock jumped in Yifan’s grip, spilling precome all over the silk sheets. Junmyeon mourned their fate for a fleeting moment before a hard thrust knocked everything out of his mind.

“Ohh… Oh fuck, Yifan,  _ Yifan _ —”

Hands spasming onto Yifan’s shoulders, nails digging into the skin, Junmyeon’s vision washed over with black, clenching tight around Yifan. “Myeon—” Yifan grunted in his ear, pushing his hands under Junmyeon, pinning him in place. 

With a strangled shout, Junmyeon came, riding it out as Yifan kept stroking him with the hand still sticky with lube. 

Yifan’s smirk turned victorious. Junmyeon wanted to hit him, but all of his limbs felt like jelly. His attempt at it was interrupted by Yifan sealing his mouth over his, kissing him until his air ran out. “So pretty,” Yifan teased, his clean hand cupping Junmyeon’s cheek.

“S-s-shut up—”

With a laugh, Yifan picked up the pace again, hip bones slamming against Junmyeon’s ass. 

“Fuck,” Junmyeon cursed, cut off by a thrust.

Yifan kept it up for a few minutes, thrusting into Junmyeon’s pliant body.

Junmyeon let his head lull back, staring at the high ceiling. Yifan’s quiet moans next to his ears sent shivers down his spine, pleasure trickling down to his groin. He would not get off again this soon, but he could always enjoy the ride.

Running his hands along Yifan’s back, Junmyeon felt up the muscles, tracing the dips and grooves with the pads of his fingers. Yifan’s pace stuttered, his cock twitching inside Junmyeon. 

“Yes,” he breathed out, undulating his hips to send Yifan off the edge.

“Ohh—” Yifan moaned, collapsing on top of Junmyeon as he came inside him. His cock pulsing hot come inside Junmyeon, Yifan collapsed on the sheets, half on top of Junmyeon. “Fuck.”

Yifan pulled his softening cock out, rolling on his back beside Junmyeon.

As warmth trickled out of him, Yifan’s warmth lifting off of him, Junmyeon melted against the sheets, staring at the ceiling. “Damn.”

“Should I clean you up, Your Highness?”

“Shut the fuck up, drop the title, and cuddle me,” Junmyeon mumbled, barely coherent, vision fading to black.

Yifan’s laugh was the last thing he heard before blissful black overtook him.

The future would most definitely be interesting.

  
  


…

  
  
  


Junmyeon had a crisis.

First of all, it was even hotter outside than anyone had anticipated, and second, Junmyeon had nothing to wear. Most thought the heat wave would have passed by now, but it seemed like it would only get worse. He could not go outside naked, but most of his summer robes were being washed. 

Junmyeon groaned and wrenched a drawer open, stuffing his hand inside.

Coming in contact with something peculiar, Junmyeon pulled his hand out, fingers tangled in lavender fabric. “Oh.  _ Oh.” _

It was a robe, meant to be worn over another robe. Sheer, draped, long, definitely not appropriate. But, Junmyeon had seen half naked servants going around the palace. By all reason he could do that too.

Putting the robe aside, Junmyeon twirled his long hair into a bun, pinning it loosely with long pins he had discarded on top of his dresser. He pulled out a couple strands to frame his face, pushing the pins deeper into his hair.

Dressing himself in the robe, Junmyeon walked out, tying the sash in the front tight, pulling some of the excess fabric up to drape over it.

Junmyeon twisted the silk robe to show the entirety of his thigh whenever he took a step, the silk draping low on his chest. He was in no way decent, but it was part of the plan. Picking out a book from the growing pile on his dresser, Junmyeon headed out.

“Oh.”

Junmyeon was met by a sight of Zitao standing by his door, instead of one of the stone-like faces Yifan usually appointed to this post. 

“Your Highness,” Zitao bowed, smiling brightly. He stood straighter, hands clasped in front of him.

“You got promoted?” Junmyeon asked, blinking in surprise. Zitao was clearly competent, but Junmyeon did not think he would shoot up in ranks after chewing his neck up like that.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Congratulations!” Junmyeon’s brows lifted up in surprise. “Yifan didn’t chew you out?”

Zitao shook his head. “My… misstep was considerably smaller than his, Your Highness,” he said, mischief painted all over his face. Smiling conspirationally, he looked away from Junmyeon.

“Oh.  _ Oh. _ Yes.”

Stifling a giggle, Zitao schooled his expression to a more appropriate one, looking at Junmyeon shyly. “I apologize, Your Highness.”

“Don’t worry. I liked it,” Junmyeon smirked, tilting his head. 

Zitao’s breath hitched visibly, gaze dragging along Junmyeon’s form before looking down. His feet were slanted inward by just a hunch. It was adorable. Yifan had not quite trained his quirks out of him. 

“T-thank you, Your Highness.”

“I’ll go read outside again. Do as Yifan told you to,” Junmyeon shrugged before the silence became queasy and headed towards the courtyard entrance. Zitao followed him, trailing two steps behind. Junmyeon nodded in acceptance. 

The way to the canopy outside was silent, Zitao shadowing Junmyeon and opening the door for him, his face unusually stern as he ensured the safety of each hallway. It made his childish face look more mature, attractive.

“Do you wish for me to bring you something, Your Highness?” Zitao asked as Junmyeon climbed the stairs up to the canopy.

“Not yet, but thank you.”

Zitao bowed, following Junmyeon and seating himself on one of the chairs. Junmyeon reclined back on the divan, making sure the robe revealed enough skin. He wanted Zitao to stare. Yifan had avoided him for days, and that would not do. Zitao would have to take his place as Junmyeon’s favorite guard, if his avoidance kept up.

And stare Zitao did. Intensely.

Junmyeon pitied the guard, having to wear thick leather in the blistering heat, but at least it kept unwanted erections in check. Mostly.

“Which title did you acquire?” 

“Oh. It’s complicated… The Royal Guard has a different system to the rest of the army, Your Highness.”

“I did not know that. How so?”

“Yifan is addressed as Captain, but his title is actually General. I would technically be a Lieutenant but in the Guard, I am just a promoted guard, Your Highness,” Zitao says, scratching the back of his neck. “That means I have fewer shifts but they are more demanding.”

Junmyeon cocked an eyebrow, sliding his finger between the novel before closing the covers. “Like standing behind my door?”

Zitao giggled. “Like standing behind your door. I have more free time now so I borrowed some novels from the library, Your Highness.”

“That’s good. And please drop the title, we are alone,” Junmyeon said, smiling warmly. Zitao looked bemused but smiled and nodded.

Their silence was interrupted by the sound of the palace doors opening, hinges creaking. Both of them startled, looking towards the palace entrance.

"Captain!" 

"At ease. I'm off shift now, just checking up on you," Yifan said, climbing up the stairs. Zitao beamed up at him. Jealousy bubbled in Junmyeon's gut. Yifan was never that chatty with him.

Yifan turned to Junmyeon, bowing deep. "Your Highness."

"Captain," Junmyeon purred, relishing in the way Yifan ate his body up with his eyes. The skimpy robe had been an excellent choice.

Yifan bowed again, seating himself next to Zitao. The two men began talking, having Junmyeon’s attention until it became clear they would merely talk of shifts and training. Nothing of interest to Junmyeon, who zoned out and resumed the novel.

“Zitao?” Junmyeon asked after a moment.

“Yes, Your Highness?” Zitao answered, ceasing the conversation he had with his Captain immediately. 

“Could you bring me a glass of water and some fruit?”

Zitao got up and bowed. “Any preference as to which fruit?” 

Junmyeon shook his head and smiled at Zitao, who headed towards the palace. Junmyeon imagined seeing a flash of jealousy in Yifan’s eyes, and he smirked to himself.

“I need to take a bath soon,” Junmyeon said to Yifan, sliding a piece of paper between the pages of the book. He would not be reading, with Yifan so close to him. 

“I shall escort you, then.”

“I thought you were off shift?” Junmyeon asked, tilting his head to the side. Now he had two guards who only addressed him as  _ “Your Highness” _ if in the presence of each other. It was a win. He hated the title.

“Not for long.”

Junmyeon nodded. “Then you shall, after I have eaten” he hummed, staring into the distance, a shiver running down his spine as he remembered the feeling of Yifan’s cock inside of him. 

Pushing his thigh out of the split in the robe, Junmyeon reopened the book, pretending to read. He wanted Yifan to  _ eat _ him up with his gaze.

Yifan swallowed heavily, and Junmyeon had to stifle a giggle.

  
  


… 

  
  


Junmyeon stopped by his dresser, touching the wooden surface. Yifan settled next to the door, hands clasped in front. All of the guards had strong hands, veiny and thick from rigorous training. Junmyeon could not help but stare.

A shudder ran down his spine as he recalled Zitao yanking his head back. Dreamily, he stared into the mirror, leaning over the dresser.

“Zitao’s hot.”

Yifan squinted. “Why are you talking about my subordinate.”

Junmyeon smiled sweetly. “Well, maybe I want to fuck him.” 

Closing his eyes, Junmyeon envisioned the scene. Zitao probably would throw him around just like Yifan did. Maybe even more, as he seemed a bit rowdier. Younger, with more energy to spare. Maybe one day, he would.

“You do not.”

“Oh? I could make you get him here and join me in the bathroom.” Junmyeon tugged his sash open, the lavender fabric dropping down, grazing the ground. Yifan’s breath hitched.

“I am only joking,” Junmyeon laughed, turning around. The robe pooled around his ankles. Reaching back, Junmyeon pulled the pins out of his hair. His hair fell down, untwisting and cascading down his back. Moving to the vanity, Junmyeon took a glance at Yifan through the mirror. He was still standing by the door, hands clasped behind his back. He clenched his jaw, avoiding looking at Junmyeon.

It was quite hilarious. For a man that blatantly disregarded his duties and screwed Junmyeon through the mattress, Yifan was terribly shy. In normal circumstances Yifan would not even dare toeing the line. Junmyeon would have to get himself in danger, as that was likely the only way to get him to do something.

A hairpin fell out of Junmyeon’s grip, bouncing off the ground. He reached down to grab it but stopped himself midway. He would not let this opportunity slide. Yifan liked his backside, and Junmyeon would deliver.

Oh. This ought to be  _ good. _

Junmyeon bent over to pick it up, strategically arching his back. A smirk trailed on his lips, unable to stop himself. 

The sound Yifan let out was quite not a moan, but it was close. Junmyeon got up and slid the pin on the table, turning to face Yifan.

Junmyeon walked to the closet, paying no mind to Yifan who followed right after. He was a step behind more than usual. Junmyeon hid his smirk. 

The bathroom door was inside Junmyeon’s closet. He had never understood why it was built like that, but he did not complain. Yifan stopped at the door, turning around to face the bedroom as Junmyeon slipped inside.

Junmyeon closed the door behind him, walking across the cold tile floor, sitting on the edge of the tub. It was embedded in the floor, just the slightest bit of height around him. He swung his legs over the ledge and slid in, sitting down on the submerged bench.

He leaned back, letting his head thunk against the ledge, closing his eyes. Having a hot bath in the heat might have not been the best idea. At least it relaxed his sore muscles.

The smell of tulips filled Junmyeon’s nostrils, yellow, orange, and red petals floating in the water, tangling in his hair, sticking into his skin. There was something more earthy in it also, a hint of sandalwood.

Letting himself slide down and submerge under water, Junmyeon thought of Yifan. All this, just for making him train in the heat. Junmyeon could not bring himself to regret anything. 

Now he just had to solidify his plans. Having the Captain wrapped around his finger always had him at an advantage, but he found himself liking Yifan’s company. The way his eyes light up when the conversation touched upon something deeper, the heavy way he swallowed when Junmyeon teased him. 

Junmyeon could get used to it. He had no reason not to let his feelings develop. His father would disapprove greatly, but Junmyeon always got his way. His late mother would have been proud of him. Pushing himself up, Junmyeon reached for the jar of balsam on the ledge.

A thought of Yifan running his fingers through Junmyeon’s hair sent shivers down his spine. He had to collect himself before grabbing the jar, shuffling on his thighs from the discomfort of starting to harden. 

He clenched his jaw and spread the balm in his hair, willing every thought of  _ Yifan _ out of his head. Junmyeon was not particularly successful.

After rinsing the balm, Junmyeon wanted out. The problem that was not quite a problem was that his towel was in the closet. Yifan would have to bring it for him. “Yifan?” Junmyeon called out.

“Yes, Your Highness?” 

Yifan sounded stiff, like his throat was parched. Entertaining himself with the thought of Yifan pleasuring himself while he bathed, Junmyeon smirked. Would that not be fun? 

“Could you get me a towel?” Junmyeon purred, leaning over the edge of the tub. He had never asked such things of Yifan. It would not hurt to try a more direct approach. Yifan had told him to  _ ask, _ after all.

Yifan emerged from the closet, a towel in hand.

“Hold it open for me?” Junmyeon pleaded, tilting his head to the side. Yifan merely nodded, spreading the towel. He took a step forward, but Junmyeon was faster. Getting up, water dripping down his body, Junmyeon headed straight towards Yifan.

Frozen in place, Yifan held the towel half open. “Thank you,” Junmyeon purred as he wrapped himself in it, pushing a little bit too close to him. Yifan swallowed dryly, bowing an inch. Junmyeon wanted to giggle. Teasing Yifan was way too fun.

Junmyeon pushed past him, walking through the closet. Technically it should have been Yifan first, to ensure the safety of his bedroom, but Junmyeon could not bring himself to care. Yifan would not reprimand him for that.

Or, if he did, he could always direct the reprimanding to the bed. 

Junmyeon sat down on the edge of said bed, letting the towel fall down on his lap. Yifan closed the door behind him, locking it. 

“So,  _ Captain, _ I reckon you told me I should  _ ask?” _

Yifan stilled in his tracks. He swallowed again, staring at Junmyeon warily. “Ask for what, Your Highness?” He looked genuinely confused, face frozen in a comical expression.

Junmyeon rolled his eyes. “Gods you are just…” Junmyeon groaned. Yifan, for all his leadership skills and excellent service, was a dumb man. “Fuck me. This is me asking.”

“For me… to  _ fuck you, _ Your Highness?” Yifan confirmed, still having that same confusion on his face. Junmyeon enjoyed his distress immensely.

“Well, yes. You told me to ask,” Junmyeon said. It had not occurred to him that Yifan could reject him. An inkling of insecurity seeped into his mind.

After all, he was quite literally his superior, an authority. Technically Yifan could not even refuse, if Junmyeon told him to bed him.  

“I guess I did…” Yifan sighed, looking back at Junmyeon. Taking a deep breath, Yifan looked up at the ceiling. All of the previous insecurity faded to nothing. Junmyeon smirked.

“Clothes off, then,  _ Fanfan _ ,” Junmyeon said, using the towel to scrunch water from his hair. The stifling heat would dry it out quickly, but his intentions were to get drilled into the mattress, and that would be best with dry hair. “Oh, also, the lack of pillows on your bed was disappointing, Fan. Make sure you get more, next time.” 

Yifan’s gaze skittered to the mountain on pillows perched on top of Junmyeon’s bedding. He nodded, his whole body stiffer than a board. Junmyeon trailed down his tall frame, settling at the growing bulge in the front. Stiff everywhere, that was how Junmyeon wanted him.

“Clothes. Off.”

Sighing exasperatedly, Yifan undid the cuffs on his forearms, shrugged his shirt off, and placed all of them on top of Junmyeon’s dresser in a heap of disorder. 

“Why so aggressive,  _ Fanfan _ ?”

Yifan turned to Junmyeon, keeping his face still. Shaking his head, Yifan turned around and folded everything neatly. Junmyeon was sure it was just to spite him. “Better?”

“Yes.” Awaiting for the main event, Junmyeon leaned back on his arms. Droplets of cold water dribbled down his back, soaking into the towel underneath him.

Yifan did not take off his pants but kicked off his shoes.

“You want to keep them on?” Junmyeon teased, crawling in the middle of the bed, still staring into Yifan’s eyes. He grumbled something, heading towards Junmyeon. Yifan maneuvered on the bed, climbing over Junmyeon, pinning his thighs in place. Junmyeon could not thrust up or get friction. 

_ This will be pure torture, _ he thought.

The view made it all worth it. Yifan, in his half-naked glory, leather pants bulging out, his cock pressing against the fly. Tugging the lacings open, Yifan let his cock spring free. “No underwear?” Junmyeon gaped.

Yifan shook his head, stuffing the thin leather straps under his waistband. He did not say anything. Junmyeon turned his gaze from Yifan’s crotch to his face. A deep red blush had spread along his cheeks, the tips of his ears. The words escaped Junmyeon’s mouth before he could stop himself.

“Are you  _ flustered?” _ Junmyeon asked. Yifan  _ never _ showed emotion, let alone embarrassment. Never.

“Mmmaybe,” he grumbled, hiding behind his hands. It was a hilarious sight, a tall man perched on top of Junmyeon’s thighs, cock out, covering his face.

Junmyeon looked away and grabbed a pillow, biting on his lip. “Oh gods why is this so awkward,” Junmyeon giggled, hiding behind the pillow. That’s what you got from fucking your guard, right? 

“I was high on stuff the last time, please!”

Last bits of tension broken, Junmyeon laughed. He pushed himself forward, pulling his legs out from under Yifan and wrapping them around his waist. He tried toppling Yifan forward, but the silk below him slipped and he just ended up sliding back down.

Yifan groaned again, covering his face. Junmyeon could see him blush between his fingers. 

Dropping the hands, Yifan said, “Stop being so hot. Seriously. Do you know how hard is it to not combust whenever I’m assigned to guard you?”

It was Junmyeon’s turn to blush, memories he would prefer to forget resurfacing. “Are you talking about that robe thing…” he muttered, wanting to suffocate himself with a pillow.

“That. And your eating habits. Your goddamn bathing routine. Everything,” Yifan groaned and settled on his thighs, stroking his own cock. “Prancing around butt-naked when I cannot do anything.”

Junmyeon bit on his lip, feeling sheepish. His eyes flickered to Yifan’s ministrations, throat closing up. “I… may have done everything on purpose?”

Yifan’s hand stilled, wrapped around the base of his cock. The sight had Junmyen’s own cock jumping, hard against his stomach. “Junmyeon, I hate you.” Yifan stared into Junmyeon’s eyes, inching closer. Junmyeon could feel soft puffs of air against his face.

“No you don’t,” Junmyeon tried to say, but it came out as a whisper. Yifan’s mouth twitched, a low hum coming from his mouth.

“Maybe I don’t,” Yifan sighed, running his hand, down from his collarbone, along Junmyeon’s torso, hooking behind his thigh. Flipping Junmyeon around unceremoniously, Yifan spread him apart with two large hands. Junmyeon squeaked, craning his neck to look at Yifan. With a devilish smirk, he licked across his perineum, suddenly pushing his tongue inside Junmyeon, toying with the rim.

“What are you—” Junmyeon hissed.

Yifan’s hand came down on his ass, effectively shutting him up. Junmyeon grumbled something, but the finger Yifan pushed in alongside his tongue turned it into a moan. It stung slightly, but it was only one and was inching towards his prostate, which made it all worth while.

Junmyeon whined into the sheets as Yifan continued his ministrations, nothing more than mere teasing. Light licks, a finger circling his prostate, but nothing more. 

“Lube?” Yifan asked, pushing himself up, a smug smile on his face. 

Junmyeon had to force his brain to work as he turned himself over onto his back again. “Hngh… In the second drawer,” he managed to get out, slumping down against the mountain of pillows behind him.

Yifan grabbed the jar from the said drawer, pressing a kiss on Junmyeon's sternum, letting his teeth graze the sensitive skin.

The first two fingers were easy, a pleasant stretch as Yifan continued to bite all over his chest, pumping his fingers in and out slowly. Pushing in a third, Yifan moved up to chew on Junmyeon’s neck, pressing a kiss on his pulse point.

Junmyeon moaned, spreading his legs further, wrapping his hands around Yifan’s torso.

“So eager, Your Highness,” Yifan said and pulled his fingers out. Junmyeon was about to protest, before Yifan hauled his thighs up, moving down on the bed.

Junmyeon wanted to snap back at him with something witty, but was effectively shut up by Yifan forcing himself in. “Woah,” he wheezed as Yifan kept pushing. It seemed to take an oddly large amount of time. Junmyeon had to look down, not believing there could be any more to push in.

Wrong. 

Junmyeon snatched a pillow to sink his face in. Yifan was barely halfway in. “Are… you alright?” Yifan asked, frozen on a half-plank above Junmyeon, just hovering there. 

“I… might have forgotten how big you are,” Junmyeon wheezed into the pillow, scrunching his brows.

Junmyeon whacked the pillow at Yifan, regretting it the second Yifan’s cock jostled inside him, a long, drawn moan escaping his throat. Keeping his eyes shut, Junmyeon pulled the pillow back on top of his face. 

Yifan wheezed, but the sound did not come from above as Junmyeon expected.

“What the—” he grumbled, pulling the pillow aside. Yifan had face planted the sheets, laughing hysterically. Junmyeon looked at him in terror.

Yifan pushed himself up, wiping tears. The movement had his cock tugging at Junmyeon’s rim hard enough to make his eyes roll to the back of his head.

“Sorry,” Yifan said still laughing, pushing an inch deeper. “I think we should—” Yifan rumbled and rolled them around, lifting Junmyeon up with ease, “This way.”

“Oh.  _ Oh.” _

Yifan might have been a genius. The angle helped with the ache, and let him set the pace. 

“Better?” Yifan asked gently, his hands wrapping around Junmyeon’s waist. The tips of his fingers touched each other, even with his thumbs hooked around Junmyeon’s torso.

Junmyeon leaned back, sinking an inch lower. “Yeah.” 

Mewling quietly, Junmyeon sunk himself all the way down, grabbing Yifan's thighs for support. They were solid through the layer of leather, steely in a way that should not be possible.

Yifan did not look like much with clothes on, aside from his height and shoulders. Without clothes, it was a whole different story.

Grabbing Junmyeon's waist, Yifan held him up and thrust, deadly precise. 

"Ohh—" Junmyeon moaned, choking on his own saliva, barely able to hold himself up.

"That good?"

"Y-yes," Junmyeon gasped, cut by Yifan planting his feet on the mattress and thrusting, now building up a pace. 

Yifan grunted, eyebrows scrunching in effort. 

“My thighs, I—”

Yifan rolled them around before Junmyeon could continue. He manhandled him around until Junmyeon was lying on his side, legs tangled with Yifan’s. Junmyeon whimpered weakly as Yifan pressed himself back in, dragging over his sensitive prostate.

Junmyeon let himself be lulled, cradled by Yifan’s strong arms, heavy breathing tickling his neck. He had half a mind to push his hair out the way, but Yifan’s slow, strong rocking made him give up the efforts to do so. Instead he grasped the sheets, the silk bunching up around him.

Lips falling open, Junmyeon let noises escape them, brows furrowing in an effort to keep up. Junmyeon clenched around Yifan’s shaft as a hard thrust dragged over his walls, sliding Junmyeon forwards on the mattress.

“A-ah fuck,” Yifan moaned,  _ right _ in Junmyeon’s ear, hips stuttering. Groaning loudly, Yifan picked up the pace, grabbing Junmyeon’s hip for leverage. It forced his spine to arch, the new angle close to perfection.

Junmyeon’s climax hit him out of nowhere.

“Y-Yifan, I—”

Letting out more filthy, loud noises concurrent to Yifan’s thrusts, Junmyeon stroked himself to completion, tears spilling out of his eyes.

Yifan’s broad hand pressed against his chest, holding him tightly against himself as he came, long, thick spurts that seemed to go on forever. Junmyeon’s eyes rolled back, aftershocks wreaking havoc through his body.

Junmyeon ground his hips against Yifan’s groin, riding the waves of pleasure before the onslaught became too much to handle.

“Fuck,” Yifan grunted, his face pressed into Junmyeon’s neck. Junmyeon smiled to himself when Yifan’s arms slithered around his waist, squeezing tightly, not giving much heed to the disgusting state of them.

Haze clouding his vision, Junmyeon let his whole body relax, Yifan’s cock slipping out of him.

“We need a bath. Both of us,” Junmyeon said, looking down at himself, scrunching his nose at the feeling of Yifan’s come trickling out of him.

“Mhm…”

“The water is still warm, we had better hurry.” Junmyeon tried wiggling out of Yifan’s death grip, but did not succeed. “Yifan!”

“What…”

“Bath. You. Me. Right now.”

Yifan gave a deep sigh of defeat, pushing himself up. “Alright.”

Junmyeon smiled smugly and got up, wobbly on his feet. A good fuck did that, and Junmyeon would not complain. Yifan, being the diligent man he was, grabbed Junmyeon’s elbow and lead him to the bathroom.

Stopping in the middle of the bathroom, Yifan wrapped his arms around Junmyeon, leaning down to press his nose into his hair. Junmyeon’s heart skipped a beat, hands shaking as he wrapped them around Yifan’s solid middle.

“Debauchery,” Yifan chuckled. Junmyeon’s head filled with questions, but Yifan did not elaborate. Junmyeon would not pry, but he did get ideas of more debauchery.

His cock twitched in interest, the ideas bringing a smirk on his face. Not letting the opportunity slide, Junmyeon escaped the warm embrace, moving down Yifan’s body. He made sure to press kisses on the scars he came across.

Settling between Yifan’s feet, Junmyeon inched closer, giving Yifan’s flaccid shaft a wet kiss, tonguing a bulging vein.

“What are you doing?”

Junmyeon shrugged, wrapping his lips around the tip of Yifan cock, suckling softly. “Preparing for a second round of debauchery, perhaps?”

Yifan shook his head but indulged Junmyeon, twisting his hair around his fingers and holding them up away from his face. “What happened to needing a bath?”

Junmyeon shrugged, giving Yifan his best innocent eyes, giving a lewd, filthy lick to the underside of Yifan’s cock. 

“You are impossible, Your Highness.”

  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> wehehe well hello there, hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> thanks to K and J for betaing and to Z for holding my hand as i screamed in agony. extra kudos for k for being awesome. prompter, if you are there somewhere, thank you. ily. also, the mod of this fest, thanks for making this exist!
> 
> come yell at me on twitter [@quavemire](https://twitter.com/quavemire) or curiouscat also [@quavemire](https://curiouscat.me/quavemire). i post all kinds of things regarding fics on twitter and occasionally just yell into the abyss. you're welcome to just lurk, also.


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